


Mis-Matched

by writernotwaiting



Category: Marvel (Comics), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Norse Religion & Lore
Genre: Arranged Marriage, F/M, Loki as a diplomat, Many swears, Rating subject to change, Sigyn has anger issues, Snark, additional tags as necessary, and if that doesn't make you giggle I don't know what will, as usual, because Loki
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-23
Updated: 2018-08-05
Packaged: 2018-11-18 03:38:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,035
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11282994
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/writernotwaiting/pseuds/writernotwaiting
Summary: This is in response to a prompt requested by someillplanetreigns (on Tumblr): “you asked for prompts and pairings - I would like to humbly beg for more Logyn? I don't have a great prompt, but this odd thought is in my head about a way to make the comic plot about Theoric and the marriage into something about marriage by proxy? Maybe something like Loki has the duty of proxy-marrying Sigyn cos Theoric's in the army, and totally plays everyone by going the whole hog and appearing as Theoric, but then Sigyn, who thought Theoric was dull as ditchwater and Loki is... well, y’know, Loki, petitions it as a real legit marriage between the two of them?”I'm really not sure this is precisely what was requested, so I will apologize in advance for my wayward muses.





	1. Chapter 1

Herr Braggison loomed over Sigyn as she slunk down lower into the chair, nose buried deep in her book, brown hands clutching the pages tighter as he moved closer. 

“Sigyn — I just received a letter from the All-mother.”

“Mmmhmm.”

“Apparently, the fighting at the front has become entrenched.”

“MmMMMmm.”

“Sigyn!”

“Hmmm?”

“Put the book down and look at me when I speak to you.”

Sigyn abruptly dropped the large hardback with a whack onto the desk, folding her hands demurely as she smiled up angelically at her guardian.

A dark scowl passed over his face before he began again, “I have just received a letter from the All-mother that tells me the fighting has become entrenched at the front. As such, Theoric will not be granted leave to attend your upcoming nuptials.” 

“Oh really?” Suddenly Sigyn was all attention, back straight, eyes bright. 

Herr Braggison’s scowl deepened. “As you know, there is a limited time during which you must be married, or the contract must be annulled or re-negotiated.” Sigyn nodded and a little smile began to blossom across her face.

“As a result, we will have to fulfill the contract by proxy.”

“WHAT?”

Her guardian flinched, then frowned once more. “Yes. There is a legal provision that allows for marriage by proxy. Thankfully, the All-mother has offered to send a representative from the court who can serve as a stand-in for your intended spouse, after which you will go to court with him to serve the queen until Theoric can return from the hostilities. In this way, the contract will be fulfilled. No fuss. Everything perfectly legal. No re-negotiations necessary. Neither will we be forced to seek out another candidate. You see? Everything is taken care of. In another month, I will have completed my legal obligations as your guardian by providing you with an appropriate husband of suitable political standing, and you will no longer have to endure my presence.”

Sigyn rose out of her chair. “Wait just a minute . . .”

“No. no. no. You and I have both been anxious to get rid of each other for years, and now here’s your chance. Theoric is a highly-respected officer is His Majesty’s army with excellent political connections. It’s a marriage much better than anything you could have hoped to get had your own family been in charge of the negotiations. I will not put this alliance at risk just because your intended can’t keep a schedule.” 

Herr Braggison paused at this point long enough to line up Sigyn’s book precisely with the edge of the table. “You will be married by the end of this month, and go off to live under the protection of the All-mother until your husband gets back from the war. Either way, you will be out of my house! You. Your books. Your seider. Your temper. Your . . . disorder . . . your . . .” And here he looked her up and down waving his hands around in the air before spitting out, “everything! The delegation from court will arrive one week prior to the ceremony. End. Of. Discussion.”

And even as Sigyn drew breath for a reply, he turned on his heel and stormed out of the library, leaving her fuming.

“Ohhhhaaaaahhhhrrrgh! My ‘everything,’ is it? My evil alien outlander contamination, you mean! Go fuck a goat, Iric! I never signed that cursed contract! You think you’re so clever, getting everything lined up a month before my majority so it wasn’t necessary!” 

Sigyn flung the chair backwards before she began pacing about the room. “A month! A month and then I’ll _be privileged_ to sit around with the All-mother’s handmaidens doing needlework until my eyes cross and listening to a bunch of insect-brained idiots gossip about big, blond musclebound, testosterone-poisoned bachelors who have rocks for brains. And then, whenever _my husband_ returns triumphant from the battlefield, I will be expected to take up _housekeeping_ like a meek little domestic pet and cater to the whims of my own personal rock-headed Einherjahr! _Oh, look at my lovely brown-skinned alien — isn’t she exotic?_ If I weren’t ready to burn this house down and be rid of you, Iric, I would set fire to those contracts myself! What happened to the spinster option? Why could there not be a clause in the papers for that? Why _marriage_? And why _him_? Dearest Norns, he is so boring! And stupid! And . . . Aesir!”

But the dictates of her father’s will were explicit, Sigyn was the legal ward of her guardian until she was suitably married. Period. There was no spinster clause. No _femme sole_ provision. Only marriage.

When the delegation arrived, she was supposed to be there. “Supposed to,” being the operant phrase. She was not. She was not there to greet them in the grand hall as they entered. She was not there for the state dinner that evening. She did not show for the formal brunch the following morning. Instead, Sigyn went out to an old, disused greenhouse and started target practice, pointing at tiny widows in succession and creating a lovely pattern by throwing runes at individual panes and shattering them. Sigyn filled her lungs with the ozone after-burn of her seider as she went. 

K-pish! “That’s for my mother for getting herself knocked off by that stupid wizard!”

K-pish! “That’s for my father for drawing up that ridiculous contract!”

K-pish! “That’s for Herr Braggison for being such a money-grubbing accountant of a negotiator!” She inhaled deeply.

K-pish! “That’s for the All-mother who refuses to nullify that stupid-ass contr-“

“Good morning, Lady Sigyn!” 

“Ahhh!” Sigyn jumped a good six inches off the ground and fired off flash of blue seider that was just barely deflected by a green shield thrown up by her visitor.

“Goat’s piss—I’m so sorry!” And then just as quickly she covered her mouth when she realized who he was. “Hel! I mean, Sorry! Shit.” She slapped her forehead. “Oh, your majesty, I so very sorry, are you hurt? You startled me . . . I mean, I had no idea you were part of the delegation. I didn’t . . . I’m so very sorry. _Are_ you hurt? Oh Norns, this is terrible.” 

Sigyn hastily bent into a deep curtsy and lowered her head. “I’m so sorry!”

She maintained her obeisance for several long moments and grimaced as she thought she heard him make some vague noise of disapproval, but then the noise shifted a bit, and she suddenly realized he was laughing.

She scowled and jerked up her head. “Are you laughing at me?”

He _was_ laughing. It started as an almost silent chuckle as he tried to suppress it, his shoulders shaking ever more violently until he was full-on laughing, smile wide across face. Her scowl deepened for a moment, but then she couldn’t help but smile back, and before long she broke into giggles of her own. 

A full minute passed like this before the prince closed the distance between them and reached out to help her off her knees with one hand and wipe his eyes with the other.

“Oh, by all that’s blessed, you should have seen the look on your face! I should have loved to capture that image forever!”

“Your majesty, I really am so sorry. No one has ever followed me out here. I never expected someone to show up, least of all you, and I was, well, preoccupied.”

He looked up at her handiwork. “I can see that. Quite an inventive way to work out your frustrations.”

Sigyn blushed deeply when she remembered what she had said. “Ohhhh! You heard that, didn’t you? Please don’t say anything. I’m already on the verge of . . . well, I guess I don’t know what Herr Braggison would do to me at this point — permanent confinement until the contract is signed, I suppose, so I don’t embarrass him any farther? And the queen . . . I know it’s not her fault. A contract is a contract and can’t be unwritten. I’m just. No. I didn’t mean it. It’s fine. Really. It’s all good.” And she folded her hands and smiled a beauty pageant smile that looked very nearly convincing.

Loki nodded slowly. “Well, I won’t mention it, if you like.”

She let out a breath she’d been holding. “That’s very gracious of you, your majesty.” She dipped a tiny curtsey once more and her smile softened into something more natural.

In response, he flashed her a smile that could easily have turned her into a pile of goo had it not been for the words that followed. “Please, call me Loki, after all, we are going to get married next week.” 

“Oh yeah, “married”. Ha ha.” Her smile abruptly turned brittle and she sobered considerably, reminding herself, _Not flirting. Off the market. Big tag marked SOLD!_ And Loki backed off with raised hands. 

“Sorry.” He raised an eyebrow. “I gather you aren’t thrilled at the prospect?”

The beauty pageant smile returned. “Oh no, it’s a great privilege. Theoric is an excellent match. My guardian has worked very hard to ensure an advantageous contract, and I’m grateful that you’ve agreed to serve as a proxy to ensure the terms are fulfilled.”

A smirk spread over Loki’s face. “Did you memorize that speech?” 

Her eyes looked slightly ill at that that, but the smile didn’t waiver and she didn’t answer. Loki inhaled and he backed off once more, pursing his lips as he concluded, “Right. An excellent match.” 

An uncomfortable pause followed until Loki finally started up a new topic, “I was unaware, Lady Sigyn, that you practiced seider. Have you studied long?”

“Oh! Well! It’s mostly self-taught. Mother had just started my lessons when she passed away, so I’ve had to rely on the books she left in the library. That’s the one argument I won when father’s estate was cleared out—I managed to keep control of nearly her entire library. I’m afraid I’ll never be a master of the craft like she was, but I’ve managed pretty well, for all that.”

“You have her books? I wonder if you would let me take a look while I’m here.”

“I would be honored Prince Loki.”

“Loki. Just Loki.” And he extended his elbow to escort her back to the house.

She hesitated a second before resting her hand in the crook of his elbow. “Thank you, m’lord. Just Loki, then.”

**********

Later that night, Loki stood in his room and reached out to draw a set of runes on the mirror, eyes moving deliberately as they followed the green shimmer as it creeped in from the edges of the frame, turned slowly to gold, and then cleared to reveal the face of Frigga, All-mother.

Loki inclined his head, “Good evening, Mother. It is good to see you.”

Frigga offered a wry smile as she replied, “Good evening to you, as well, Loki. How has your ambassadorship fared today? Did you finally manage to greet Theoric’s intended?”

“I did, indeed.” Loki returned her smile. “I found her out in an old greenhouse knocking out window panes with her seider.”

“Really?”

“I barely missed getting winged myself when I startled her.” He snickered. “Why did you not warn me of the danger I would face?”

“I had no idea she practiced seider. She was so young when her mother passed, I assumed that she never trained.”

“Apparently she is self taught. Is that even possible?”

“Not unheard of, I suppose, but certainly rare. How did you find her — will the marriage suit, do you think?”

“Do you wish my honest answer, Mother, or a diplomatic one?”

“Loki,” she chided.

Loki’s face soured. “Frankly, I can’t imagine a more poorly made match. She is bright, well-read, quick-witted, and blunt, whereas Theoric is, well—none of those things. They will make each other perfectly miserable. I can’t imagine why he would seek out such a match, unless she’s . . .” 

Loki read the warning on his mother’s face immediately, “ahhhh, of course, unless she’s rich.” He paused. “She is, isn’t she? He’s to get a big, fat dowry.”

“Shush, Loki. Everything has already been arranged. If the couple are pleased enough with the match to sign the contract, there is nothing to be done against it.”

“I’m not entirely sure she is. What does she get out of this arrangement?”

“Out of her guardian’s house, I suppose. He has certainly made no secret of the fact that she has been a difficult charge. I believe she is anxious to cut those ties as soon as she can.”

“By marrying Theoric?” He asked dubiously.

“As near as I can remember, the terms of the wardship dictate that she cannot leave her guardian’s care until she marries. It’s an old fashioned arrangement, but it cannot be altered.”

“But . . . Theoric?”

“Loki—it is not your place to approve or disapprove of the match. You are there only to ensure the contract is fulfilled before the terms are up. There must be mitigating circumstances that lead her guardian to believe that another match might be difficult to attain, or perhaps difficult to attain with such advantageous conditions. Marriage negotiations can be complicated, especially for orphans like Sigyn.”

“Like Sigyn.”

“Yes, like Sigyn.”

“You mean outlanders.”

“Yes. People prefer . . .” And here Frigga had the decency to hesitate and even blush a bit.

“Their own kind.”

“Well, yes. It’s tricky.”

“Right.” His face had drawn into a deep scowl by that point, but knew she was right. Aesir are insular and slow to accept anything, or anyone, different. _But Theoric! That imbecile. She’s wasted on him._


	2. Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sigyn moves to court and meets the queen. Loki is Loki.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I *am* going to finish this--I promise!

_It’s done. I’m married. Signed. Sealed. Now awaiting delivery._

Sigyn stood on the grand steps of her guardian’s house awaiting the carriage that would remove her from his condescending gaze forever, and into the midst of the Aesir court—one tiny victory in exchange for what could easily turn into a lifetime of defeats. She smiled tightly as Loki offered to help her into the cushioned interior of the carriage before he stepped back to salute her guardian and mount his horse. 

A week earlier, she’d almost ruined everything. Loki had been showing her some illusions—skillful fireworks. And though they were in an inner courtyard, they were alone—at least Sigyn had thought so. So on impulse Sigyn decided to show him some fire magic. Just a few things, a tiny fireball in the palm of her hand, flames on her fingertips. He was fascinated when he discovered that the flames weren’t illusory, that they threw real heat. She was about to bring up the fireball once more, when the voice of her guardian rang out, “Sigyn, there you are! I’ve been looking for you.”

Sigyn froze in her tracks, quickly dousing the spell. “Herr Braggison! I apologize. What can I do for you?”

“Come with me, girl, I need to talk to you about the packing.”

That was a lie, and she knew it, but what could she do? Suppressing the urge to roll her eyes, she curtsied quickly to Loki and followed her guardian into the house as he led her to his office.

As soon as the door shut he rounded on her. “What in all the nine realms do you think you’re doing, girl?” 

“Just making conversation with our guest,” she replied through gritted teeth. “You know, making him feel welcome, just like you told me to.”

“Idiot! What did I say? No fire magic, ever!”

“We were just trading spells. Anyone can do a simple flame spell.”

“Not like that! No one summons fire like that—only you, only your kind. What do you think will happen if they find out?”

She shifted her gaze to the window, eyes full of resentment, still clenching her teeth, so her voice was barely audible. “Banished.”

“Exactly. No wedding. No bride price. No fancy house. Nothing. Both of us will be ruined, and as much as I know you would love to see me disgraced, I think the price is too heavy, even for you.” Iric stuck his index finger right in her face. “No more fire spells. Ever.”

“Yes, _sir_.” She stayed in the little office for a good half hour after Iric stormed out, just breathing, working hard to get her temper back under control, before she ventured back out into the house proper. By then, Iric had distracted Loki with the promise of a ride through the grounds, so Sigyn was safe to bury herself in her room until supper. Iric was right, of course. She had been showing off and not thinking about the implications. Loki wasn’t stupid, and if her secret got out, she would no longer be welcome in Asgard. But that didn’t mean she made that admission with good grace.

Now that the proxy wedding was over, and she settled in for the carriage ride to court, Sigyn scowled as the door latched shut. 

_I can ride a horse, guys! At least then I could talk to him. I hate this. I hate the marriage. I hate Theoric. I hate my guardian. I hate my father. I hate everything!_ And she flopped back into the soft seat with all the grace of a 14 year old. 

_If no one can see me, I can pout all I want._

And who could fault that logic? 

Not Loki.

He would like nothing more than to crawl in the carriage and pout right along with her. 

Well, he’s pretty certain he would get to the pouting part, eventually. He would probably start with the comforting part first. Or maybe soothing distraction. Or just outright distraction. Perhaps active distraction. At any rate, Loki had to admit to himself that he was pretty darn distracted, dammit, as he rode next to the carriage and tried valiantly to keep looking forward with a straight face. Somewhere along the line he had lost the diplomat’s objectivity. His mother would be appalled. 

_How in the name of all that’s blessed did this happen?_

After a second day spent in Sigyn’s company, Loki had decided that a real look at the contract was in order. His conversation with Frigga replayed in his imagination, “If the couple are pleased enough with the match to sign the contract, there is nothing to be done against it,” Frigga had said. But Sigyn did not seem pleased.

In private, Sigyn’s laughter was quick, her smile bright, and her company sent something down his spine akin to warm water trickling into a pool. When Loki followed her out to her hiding places around Herr Braggison’s estate, they talked about books, favorite stories, even traded favorite spells—usually by blowing things up (little things, honest). 

However, once in the house again, she shuttered everything. Her mouth transformed into a tight line or rigid smile, especially if her guardian appeared or Theoric’s name was mentioned. 

And so, of course, he had a professional duty to read the contract. Granted, this was only a temporary assignment until his wounds had finally healed enough to return to the fighting, but as an official representative of the court, he couldn’t permit a vulnerable member of society to be taken advantage of. Frigga would expect of him. His investigation was purely in the government’s interest. There had to be a loophole or a mistake somewhere that would free Sigyn from such a disadvantageous match. 

He read it twice. 

Unfortunately, all he managed to discover was how thoroughly precise Sigyn’s guardian had been. Every legal contingency covered. Every stipulation specified. Every punctuation mark of her father’s wishes taken into account. 

He noticed only one particular omission: the distinct lack of the intended bride’s signature. Loki repeated this to himself like a mantra. Sigyn had never signed the negotiated contract. She hadn’t signed.

_“If the couple are pleased enough with the match to sign the contract, there is nothing to be done against it.”_

But Sigyn hadn’t signed.

Well, in another two weeks Loki would be cleared to go back to the fighting himself, and then he could do a bit of reconnaissance on his own — a character study of the groom was in order. Perhaps he could locate his second loophole there. In the meanwhile, he would absolutely ensure Sigyn felt more than welcome at the palace.

Perhaps he could serve as proxy at more than just the wedding. He smirked at the thought, then startled when his horse jostled him around a tree branch in the road.

_Idiot! Pay attention to what you’re doing._

Loki, however, was nothing if not an opportunist.

No one would criticize him if he chose to take a break from his horse and ride for a bit in the carriage. He was a prince, after all.

Which is exactly what he did on the second day. They talked about books, about what life would be like at court, about the life Sigyn was leaving behind (though this seemed curiously edited, to Loki’s mind), and the shared little illusions. Loki found himself increasingly caught by the sparkle in her eyes when she became excited, by the way the light occasionally glinted off her riotous curls, by the tiny little scar by her eye that got swallowed in a dimple when she smiled. And he thought she might be caught, too, just a little bit—her gaze slow to leave his when they laughed together.

But then her ease vanished again as soon as she sensed a change in the road, from rutted dirt, to smooth hard-packed earth, and then to gravel. Sigyn peered out the window at the large buildings that sprang up before them and her expression became shuttered and her shoulders tense. Loki tried to distract her by naming the more prominent ones, playing tour guide, but where her hands had animated with her interest before, her fists withdrew into a tight knot in her lap. 

“Are you alright, Sigyn?”

“Yes, your highness,” with a smile obviously practiced, “everything’s fine. What were you saying about that building over there?” Here actions transformed from something nearly flirtatious to polished politeness.

Loki paused before he resumed playing tour guide, doing his best to hide his own frustration and growing anger at the situation. 

_This is not right. Why is she going along with something that she obviously dreads. There is some piece I’m missing._

He took one risk, covering her hands with one of his own. He felt her flinch, before she briefly squeezed his fingers and pulled her hands away to hide them in her pockets. She flashed him a tight smile, but he could see the glitter in her eyes before she turned away to face the window.

When they arrived at the palace, their first duty was to pay their respects to the queen. And after brief introductions, Frigga had one of her own attendants guide Sigyn to her room so she could rest a bit and change, “We’ll talk again over a light snack this evening. I’ll arrange for you to have supper on your own—I’m sure you’re exhausted after your travels.”

“Thank you, your majesty,” Sigyn curtsied, “I would appreciate a little time to get settled.”

“Gudren, help Sigyn navigate her way about, won’t you? The place can be a bit of a maze until you’re used to it.”

After the women left, Loki started to leave as well, but Frigga caught his arm and dragged him back with a serious look. “Loki.”

He looked at his mother, surprised at her sharp tone, “Mother?”

“Don’t.”

Again, he frowned. “What do you mean?”

“I do have eyes, dearest, and you cannot hide That Look from me. She’s married. You need to stop looking at her like that.”

Loki was all over innocence as he replied, “Like what?”

“Loki!”

He scrunched up his face in distaste, giving up the pretense. “She doesn’t want this. Everything she does screams it. And I can’t blame her. She’s smart, witty, highly educated. She’ll be miserable. There’s nothing about her that will appeal to Theoric and nothing about Theoric that would appeal to her.”

“She signed the contract, Loki. We cannot judge her circumstances. Love is a completely unpredictable thing.”

“She didn’t.”

Frigga’s tone rose. “What?”

“She didn’t sign the contract. It was drawn up a month before her majority, and her guardian signed for her. Something isn’t right about this, Mother.”

“And you have absolutely no vested interest in something being wrong?” Frigga raised an eyebrow as she spoke.

Loki paused as he tried to read his mother’s expression. This was not a time to be flippant. “Would it be frowned upon if I did have some interest in the outcome?”

Frigga pursed her lips as she examined his face carefully. “I had not planned to think on this for many years to come.” Another long pause. “I’m sure your father would prefer something more politically astute.”

Loki replied carefully, though he had already given it a good deal of thought over the past few days, “Well, I am, after all, only a second son. Does this not give me slightly more leeway in this area?”

Frigga mostly suppressed a smile at that. “Slightly. Why don’t I tell you exactly how much leeway you have after I have spoken with her a bit further?”

Loki bowed his head and smiled, “I have full confidence in your judgement.”

“You are a very naughty young man. Rather than mooning about your room this evening, perhaps you should spend a few hours in either the law or the genealogy libraries?”

“That is an excellent thought, Mother. I love nothing more than tracing family histories.”

Frigga turned him toward the doors and shoved him out, whispering, “Be discreet!”

Sigyn took stock of her situation after Gudren left. Her room was slightly smaller than the one she was used to—the bed took up a good deal of the available real estate. But there was a dresser, a little desk near a large window, and best of all she had her own bath with a small vanity and mirror, separated from her bedroom by a short hall that doubled as a closet. 

Then she stared ruefully at the crates full of books stacked on her floor. _Perhaps I can ask for some shelves to be put on one side of the closet._

It was already late afternoon, so she went about unpacking the barest necessities, starting with the clothes and toiletries. She tried hard to not think about the day’s ride, which meant, of course, that it was all she thought about. The carriage was small and stacked with boxes she hadn’t wanted to risk to the cart, so Loki sat nearly scrunched up next to her—Sigyn’s skin fairly tingled every time their arms or thighs brushed. She could still call up the clean smell of his leather jacket, and the mischievous twinkle in his eyes when he laughed. 

All of the things that could not be hers, for a multitude of reasons. When Loki covered her hands with his own, it nearly broke her.

_I hope Iric chokes on his money._

Someone brought in her supper after a bit and let her know the queen would like to see her in three hours. _Right. Eat now. Think later. Much, much later._

Sigyn dressed with care, entertaining vague hopes that Loki might keep his mother company at her evening table, but it was not to be. In fact, Frigga dismissed her other women as Sigyn arrived. “I wanted to get to know you without having an audience. It can be intimidating, moving to this crowded place from a country estate. I wanted to get to know you, so I know how best to make use of your talents in the little time I get to keep you.” 

And there was the reminder— _the little time_. Sigyn checked her face to make sure it was still that of the well-behaved bride. “Of course, your majesty, I will do whatever I can to be useful until my husband returns from the front.” 

Frigga nodded, giving no indication that she noticed the flicker in Sigyn’s expression. “Loki tells me that you work seidr?”

“Yes, majesty.”

“And that you’re self taught?”

Sigyn blushed a bit. “Not entirely—I started to study with my mother a couple of years before she passed away.”

“But after that?”

“Yes. After that I was left to my own devices, pretty much. And after Father died, I was able to keep Mother’s books. Some of it was slow going, but there’s not much to do on Herr Braggison’s estate, so I could spend as much time in study as possible.”

“So you’re self motivated—I like that.”

“Thank you, ma’am.”

“Tell me about your favorite spells.” 

Sigyn had a brief thrill of panic, but the conversation went easily after that short hitch. Frigga was good at that, putting others at ease, drawing them out. Sigyn quite lost track of time, until Frigga broke up their conversation. “It’s getting a bit late, Sigyn. Since you’re here, why don’t you help me get ready for bed rather than calling for someone else.”

“Of course.”

She led her into an inner chamber where her clothes hung on long, well-organized racks, pulling a night dress down and laying it across the back of a chair. “Would you undo my laces, dear.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Sigyn reached up to undo Frigga’s breastplate, then untangle the laces at her neck. After Frigga had changed, she sat in front of the vanity.

“Would you unpin my hair for me?”

“Certainly.” Sigyn searched for and then pulled out the pins holding together Frigga’s elaborate up-do, unwinding the braids before gently running her finger through them to pull them apart. When Frigga handed her a brush, Sigyn felt a slight tingle as she ran it through the long, golden locks. Not a single snag.

“It’s magic, isn’t it?” Sigyn marveled.

Frigga smiled broadly. “The brush? Yes, how could you tell?”

“I can feel it. Did you do this?”

“It was a gift. Loki made it for me. He was always underfoot when he was young, and was always noticing things. He saw one of the ladies struggling with the knots in my hair and gave me this brush for my name day.”

“That was very thoughtful. How clever.” 

Frigga laughed, “He can be when he wants to be.”

That night Sigyn curled into herself in the new, unfamiliar bed trying to find sleep. Her mind, though, simply would not let her go. She wanted so badly to just enjoy how welcome she felt. The queen had been more than gracious—Sigyn felt real approval. There was no hint of the outlander prejudice her guardian always threw in her face, no disparagement for her studies or magic-sensitivity—far from it. But, she reminded herself, her place here was temporary—only as long as Theoric was needed in the war. As soon as there was a break, he would take her out to his estate. She shuddered. How long would she be able to postpone being alone with him? Never long enough.

If the will hadn’t insisted on marriage, she would have set herself up independently—a little herb shop in town—surely a city as big as the one surrounding the castle could support another kitchen witch. It wouldn’t be glamorous, sure, but a single life where she controlled her own destiny was infinitely preferable to what she faced now. But why Theoric? Surely Iric could have come to an arrangement with someone else—someone clever, perhaps even a magic user, someone with green eyes and sculpted cheekbones with lean muscles and a liquid voice as deep as a forest pool whose touch felt electric on her skin . . . 

_Arrrrrhg!_

_That_ was exactly what she should not be thinking about. As if she weren’t in enough trouble as it was, now her brain readily produced vivid alternatives to her oaf of a husband, and the more pleasant those dreams were, the more miserable she became. Even if she weren’t married Loki was a prince. Princes marry for politics not money, which was all she had to offer. There was certainly no prestige attached to her breeding. They both of them should be wearing big signs: Do Not Touch! 

_Oh Norns, it would be so easy to get into so much trouble!_

And unfortunately, part of her really wanted to get into trouble right now.

Sleep took a long time to find her.

Frigga, on the other hand, found herself quite satisfied by the evening’s conversation, and made a note to herself to gather as much gossip as possible about Herr Braggison and Theoric—after all, she had vast resources with which to do so. Loki was right, Sigyn was wasted on Theoric, and something about that marriage contract definitely smelled of three-day-old fish.


	3. Part 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sigyn gets sent to the library. Darn.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, I know this was originally supposed to be a two-part story. And I know that, after that, I said it was going to be a three-part story. But it was so long between parts 1 and 2 that I thought folks would rather I update quickly with a short bit, instead of having to wait longer for the entire conclusion. So now it looks like the story will have four parts. (besides, this lets me end the chapter on a fantastic cliffhanger and the evil writer gene in me just really couldn't resist that).

The morning was bright and clear as Frigga led her entourage out to the garden. Once there, the women divided themselves into little groups—one set going to sit in a shady arbor with their needlework while they took turns reading aloud to those who worked, another fanned out to care for the various plants, another group sat with sketch books taking botanical studies of rare plants. 

Sigyn stood by and watched the women move with perfect assurance toward their tasks, then looked over at the queen inquisitively. “What would you prefer I do, your majesty?”

Frigga turned a smile onto the newest addition to her court. “What would you prefer, my dear?”

Sigyn balked at the question and felt her face flush. “I’m afraid I’m not altogether suited for any of these pursuits, ma’am. I never learned the finer points of needlework, or drawing—Herr Bragisson is a bachelor and hired no female tutor for me.”

“And gardening? The study of magic often involves the study of living things—herbology, and growing things.”

Sigyn’s blush grew darker and she began worrying at her cuticles. “I’ve never shown any affinity for live plants. Don’t misunderstand me—I know what to do with the plants after they’re harvested. I’ve read many books on the healing arts, and on potions. It’s just the growing of them that seems to elude me.”

Frigga’s brows drew together. “I wonder how that could be. Your sensitivity seems very strong. What sort of magic seems to come most naturally, Sigyn? What were the first spells you could cast?”

Now Sigyn looked decidedly nervous, and Frigga placed a hand on her arm to soothe her. “It’s quite fine, dear. No one’s talent is ever exactly like anyone else’s—there no shame if yours is a little different than most.”

“Um, actually, I probably have the most ease with small pyrotechnics—you know, fireworks and light spells.”

“I see.” Frigga’s smile became a little sly. “Perhaps one of the reasons Herr Bragisson was so eager to see you placed with a spouse so soon.”

Sigyn laughed, a bit relieved to have the conversation turn. “Yes, undoubtedly! The prince might have told you about the first time we met—I was actually wreaking havoc on one of the greenhouses. I certainly was never able to grow anything out there, so I took to using it as target practice.”

Frigga laughed. “I think he did mention something of the sort. Loki is always up for a bit of mischief himself.”

Sigyn rolled her eyes—she remembered his reaction vividly. “Yes, he certainly seemed to find it amusing.”

“Unfortunately, I’m not sure I have a need for anyone to redecorate my own greenhouses. We shall have to figure out something else for you to do. In the meanwhile, why don’t I show you around the gardens, and perhaps in the afternoon you could do a bit of searching in the library for me.”

Sigyn’s eyes lit up. “The library? Oh yes, I would very much enjoy that sort of errand!”

“Excellent, I’ll give you a list of things I would like you to hunt down for me, and you can let me know what you found out this evening after supper.”

It was a lie, of course—not a _huge_ one—fireworks were most definitely Sigyn’s _second_ favorite spells, but there was no doubt that her greatest affinity was for fire magic. She could easily call flames out of anything, set fire to the wettest, greenest wood, make flames dance intricate patterns, hold white hot fireballs in her cupped palms. To admit this, however, was to admit who she was—what she was—and that was something she could never do, not if she wished to remain in Asgard. Her father and guardian had always made it quite clear—her mother had not been a citizen and Sigyn would not be welcome if that secret came out. 

For her part, Frigga had detected a lie, she just didn’t know what it was covering over. It made no sense—they were just spells. Frigga, however, was nothing if not good at digging out the truth—it was a survival trait; her second son was Loki, after all. In fact, perhaps another discussion with him was in order, since he had spent over a week out in the country with Sigyn. Frigga liked her temporary charge, but there could be no secrets in cases like this. Not if a family alliance were a possibility.

Despite this little hitch, the queen really had meant it about the research, and drew up a list of topics for Sigyn to look into for her. After lunch, she gave her a data recorder, asked Gudren to show her to the library and introduce her to the archivist. 

Early that afternoon, Loki came to check in with his mother, just to chat—what other motivation could he have? “Father’s locked in his office with the auditors this afternoon, and gave me permission to ‘follow my own pursuits,’” he intoned, imitating his father’s sonorous baritone. 

Frigga pretended not to notice the sarcasm, nor to notice as his eyes scanned over the clusters of women at work. Instead, she took his arm and led him away from prying ears for a short turn through the arboretum. Once out of earshot, she patted his arm. “While you were out in the country, did you notice anything odd about Sigyn’s magic?”

“Her magic? No, why?”

“There were no spells that she seemed to have particular difficulty with? Things that went awry or got out of control?”

“No. If anything I’d have to say it was the opposite. It’s hard to believe she’s self taught. In fact, one morning she started to show me a fantastic fire spell, which is something I’ve never quite mastered. I was hoping to have her show me how, but she got called away.”

“Hmm. I was just curious. She tells me that she hasn’t quite mastered spells for growing plants and I just wondered if maybe she was just being modest.”

“I guess I couldn’t say. We never went into a garden.”

“Well, no matter.” Frigga smiled. “I sent her to the library this afternoon to collect some notes for me since there didn’t seem to be anything for her to help with here. She’s a bookish girl,” Frigga’s tone approving rather than dismissive, “I thought she might be able to ferret out a few obscure references for me. The archivist can point her toward the right texts.”

“Really? That should be something she would like.”

If his mother noticed that her son’s visit was a tiny bit shorter than usual, she was diplomatic enough not to say.

Loki found Sigyn easily enough at a large table toward the back of a side room, sun streaming through a window onto the text in front of her. Every competitive bone in his body suddenly came to life—he would not let Theoric take her home with him. It was unthinkable.

He sidled up to the table, and pulled a chair around. “So what sort of wild bilgesnipe has mother sent you after?”

Sigyn’s eyes went wide when she saw who her visitor was, then she smiled brightly, “oh it’s not that bad. She just wanted notes on these new herbs that some ambassador had brought from Alfheim, so the archivist pulled a couple of botanical references for me. I should be done long before supper. In fact I think I’ve got most of what I need already—I just need to do some cross-checking.”

“Hmmmm . . . just the sort of thing Theoric would enjoy talking about I’m sure.”

She snorted before she could catch herself, but then she schooled her face into neutrality and took a long look at Loki before she replied cautiously, “I’m sure he’ll appreciate that I can supervise the health of the household without consulting him on every detail.”

Loki could see the battle in her countenance, so he licked his lips and decided to gamble. “Especially since he wouldn’t know the answers, anyway.”

This threw Sigyn farther off balance, and she opted to deflect, “Yes, well, it’s good that I’ll be able to fill that role. I’ll be able to make myself useful.”

Loki barely contained a snort and tried hard not to roll his eyes, _there’s a lofty goal for a marriage_. 

Instead, he drew his chair closer so he could get a better look at her text. “Which book is this, anyway?” He reached across Sigyn to pull the book closer and look at the title pages, brushing her arm in the process.

“Alfric’s herbology — I hadn’t seen it before. He’s very thorough.” She relaxes at the change in subject, and he hid a little smile.

“Did you already look at Sumerson? 

“No, but the librarian pulled it for me. I was going to look at it next.” She pointed to the stack on the far end of the table.

“Good idea—they don’t always agree with one another.”

“Really?”

“No. They used to get in tremendous rows at guild meetings.”

Her eyes brightened again. “No! How do you know about that?”

“My tutor told me—both of them meticulous to a fault but with egos the size of Yggdrasil itself, apparently.”

“Oh gods, I would pay to see that!” She smiled openly now, catching his mischief.

“He said it was quite entertaining, as long as you could avoid getting dragged into the debate.”

“Oh, do tell.”

“Apparently they once went at it for a week about the classifications of square-stemmed plants and whether they constituted a family unto themselves, or should be divided into three separate ones.”

“Why that’s completely illogical—how could you divide mints into more than one family?”

“There you are! But they went at it for days. Sumerson went on and on about the chemical composition of the oils and the intoxicant effects of certain species on various species of felis, insisting that this set them apart from the rest of the group.” 

“That’s ridiculous.”

“Well, obviously, but he very much sticks to detail, so it’s good you have both books.”

“So good of you to approve.” Sigyn’s eyes fairly danced now, and Loki was stopped cold by it, his gaze magnetized by her own for a long moment before it flitted over the rest of her face—forehead, cheeks, nose, lips. It was all Loki could do to keep himself from leaning in for a kiss.

Sigyn blushed hard, turning away to pull the book back in front of her and try to find her place again, all while trying desperately to ignore the fire in her skin that somehow made her painfully aware of the fabric of her clothing shifting over her skin, made her swallow hard and her heart beat fast. 

She flinched when Loki’s hand covered her own, but didn’t pull away.

They sat in silence for several long minutes as his fingers roamed over the back of her hand, carefully outlining each knuckle and tracing the tendons down toward her wrist, while Sigyn’s face remained fixed on the far page. Once his fingers slid to the underside of her wrist, though, Sigyn balled up her fist and shook her head. Her voice came out small as her throat constricted, “I can’t.”

Loki kept his touch light over her skin, tried to keep his voice just as light, “Modal verbs are tricky things, don’t you think? Such small things— _can’t, won’t_.”

Sigyn’s other hand felt unsteady as it covered her mouth briefly and she squeezed her eyes shut. When her hand came back down, she forced a smile. “Those little words cause so much trouble.” She kept her eyes focused on the book, but he saw her fight for control, saw the tears that she blinked back before she next spoke in a quiet, bitter tone, “Little words like ‘I do’—they get in the way.”

She pulled her hand away from his to hide it in her lap.

“Sigyn.”

“I think you need to go now so I can finish my work.”

Loki leaned in. “We’ll talk later, then.” As he walked behind her, he squeezed her shoulder and trailed his hand across her back.


	4. Part 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sigyn's frustrated; Loki does some work in the library (real research this time); and woosh, did someone turn up the heat? I think it just got a little warm in here.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, I know. I said this last time, but I really really am going to finish this story in the next chapter--I even know how it ends this time. Please don't be mad at me.

As soon as she was able, Sigyn practically ran back to her room, stuffed her skirts into her mouth and screamed. There wasn’t even anything she could break or set fire to—none of it was hers, and surely the smoke would attract attention. She sank down to the floor in front of the desk chair and beat the cushions for all she was worth. 

_Aaaargh! The Norns are having a mighty fine laugh at this, aren’t they? So much for patient resignation. He can’t do this to me! I can’t do this. How am I going to survive this?_

She sat on the floor arms draped over the seat cushion for a good 15 minutes before she started feeling really stupid, and finally looked up, and turned around to lean back against the chair leg. 

_Ah, goat’s piss, girl, you do what you’ve been doing. Keep your head down. Smile and nod. Be helpful, but not too helpful. Don’t set anything on fire. By all that’s fated—DON’T SET ANYTHING ON FIRE!!!!_

This whole behaving one’s self was definitely overrated. Well, one small consolation she could count on was that after consummation, Theoric would be absent from home often—as long as Asgard was at war, his services would be needed elsewhere—and Asgard was always at war with someone. Thank the Norns for tiny favors. 

Her father’s money would keep Theoric’s aging estate afloat. Herr Braggison would get whatever kickback Theoric had promised, and Sigyn would be well out of the public eye and away from anyone who might be overly interested in enforcing immigration statutes. It then occurred to her that maybe she should read up on those statutes while she had access to a law library, so she at least knew what I’m hiding from.

_See? I can be rational._

She looked at the time piece on the mantle—two hours until supper. Time enough for a quick bath before she got her notes in order for the queen. She reminded herself of her mantra:

_Smile and nod._

_Be helpful, but not too helpful._

_Don’t set anything on fire._

Loki, on the other hand, went right from the botany library over to genealogy. He had already looked through Theoric’s and Herr Bragisson’s pedigrees with a fine-toothed comb and hadn’t come up with anything suspicious. Theoric’s blood was as blue as the underside of a glacier—an ancient country estate with impeccable bloodlines. He was probably even Odin’s fourth cousin twice removed. There was nothing improper to dredge up there. It did, however, confirm his hunch. The estate was ancient but was parasitical. It had no means of supporting itself in the style to which its owners were accustomed, and badly needed an influx of cash. 

Herr Braggison’s bloodline was quite a bit more mundane—money made in trade—and he certainly seemed to need no money, but Loki had seen enough of the man to know that his veins flowed with the ink of a ledger, so some profit motive for Sigyn’s marriage arrangements would come as no surprise. 

Today he would delve into Sigyn’s family. But here he ran into a bit of a road block. Loki found the father—a trader in exotic wines and alcohols. He could trace the paternal line with no trouble. As for the mother . . . nothing. Well, not nothing, there was a marriage certificate. But that’s it. He searched everywhere.

Alright then, what was Trygge doing in the year before he married Ilona. That meant reading trade records. 

_I hate reading trade records._

But how hard could it be, really? Merchants had to apply for travel within realms—it wasn’t always safe, what with shifting alliances and trade agreements, so if Trygge had gone off-world there would be permits involved. And it wasn’t all that difficult to find them. 

Alfheim. 

Trygge had applied to travel to Alfheim to buy sweet wines, there were the dates, but wow, he was gone for a long time. 

_That’s an awfully long trip for just sweet wines. Was there anything else in the import manifest?_ _Where’s the manifest? Of course, it’s in a completely different part of the library._

_Trade manifests._

_Ah ha! Sweet wines. Elven liquors. Fire whiskey. Lots and lots of fire whiskey?_

Fire whiskey was from Muspelheim. There is no trade agreement with Muspellheim. There had never been a trade agreement with Muspellheim. Intercourse with Muspellheim is, in fact, strictly forbidden and has been for ages. 

So, Sigyn’s father had purchased fire whiskey through a third party? Did Alfheim have a trade agreement with Muspellheim?

More records—lists of liquor dealers in Alfheim 900-1000 years ago. 

_Norns, I hate trade records!_

Two hours later, Loki had come up with one possible source—there was one—singular—dealer of fire whiskey in Alfheim during the ten years prior to Trygge’s marriage to Ilona. The Fire Stone Inn: sole proprietor, Aeldit—formerly of Muspellheim. 

_Wow! Look at that stack of permits._

_Permit #6870043: special dispensation for non-citizen ownership rights to The Fire Stone Inn to one, Aeldit, formerly of Muspelheim_

Well, that answered the question of how Tryyge had bought fire whiskey without traveling to Muspellheim, but look at all these other permits:

“Permit #6870044: special dispensation for non-citizen proprietorship of a hospitality-oriented business, to aforesaid Aeldit.

Permit #6870045: special dispensation for non-citizen sale of food and beverages, to aforesaid Aeldit.”

_Permit #blahblahblah . . . Ah! alright then--_

“Permit #6870056: for the manufacture and sale of fire whiskey, ‘based on his father’s own recipe.’ 

Permit #68070057: safety dispensation for a minor involved in the manufacture and sale of fire whiskey—daughter, Ilona, claimed to be essential in the running of family business.”

_Wait, what?_

_Daughter, Ilona, essential in running the family business._

_Trygge’s wife—Ilona._

_Urd’s stinking well, Sigyn’s mother was a fire giant!_

_Why does that make Sigyn even sexier?_

_It doesn’t matter, because by all the water in Urd’s stinking well, I am stupidly in love with her._

He went to his mother right after supper.

“We have to talk.”

“Have you discovered something?”

Loki looked around to make sure all of Frigga’s ladies had gone. “Fire whiskey.”

Frigga furrowed her brow. “Don’t be cryptic, dear. Occasionally you need to spell things out, even to me.”

“Sigyn’s father, Trygge traded in exotic liquors. While on a trading excursion, he found a supplier for fire whiskey. Made by an actual fire giant. Who had a daughter.”

“Yes?”

“Trygge married the daughter. Sigyn’s mother was a fire giant.

“I beg your pardon?”

“Sigyn’s mother was a fire giant.”

Frigga sat down. 

It’s not often Loki struck his mother silent. He tried to savor it, but he was a little too nervous to really enjoy it as he ought. 

When she recovered, her response was probably predictable.

“That’s not possible, Loki. There’s been no legal interaction with Muspellheim for millennia, even diplomatic contacts are mediated.”

“A person who lived lived in Alfheim and sold fire whiskey was granted a huge stack of permits granting him “non-citizen’s rights” to operate the business. Sygin’s father was a liquor importer and acquired massive quantities of fire whiskey while on a trip to Alfheim. He also, seemingly, acquired a wife on the same trip, a wife who has the same name as said dealer in fire whiskey.”

“And there were no other sources for the fire whiskey.”

“Well, elves definitely do not make fire whiskey using a family recipe.”

“No, they do not.”

“And when you think about it, Sigyn definitely does not look as though her mother was an elf.”

Frigga sighed. “No, she does not.”

“So Trygge probably smuggled his new wife into Asgard when he returned with three barrels of legally purchased fire whiskey.”

“Because of course there are no records of her mother entering the realm legally.”

Loki shook his head. 

“And does explain her father’s insistence that she marry early, and well.”

Loki nodded and began to fidget with his hands. “Is this a problem?”

“Potentially.”

“How big of a problem?”

“Honestly? I’m not sure.”

Loki dropped onto the sofa next to her. “Mother, honestly? I really need it to not be a problem.”

She carded her fingers into his hair. “Oh dearest, you know I’ll have to speak to your father about this.”

Loki groaned.

“Well, he would have to be involved in these discussions at some point, anyway, sweetheart. This just means I will have to involve him a little bit earlier.”

They sat quietly for a few minutes before Frigga broke the silence, “There is still the matter of the contract.”

“Actually, I’m not all that worried about that. I’m pretty sure Theoric only agreed to the marriage because his estate desperately needs cash, so I really think he could be bought off. And since the marriage has yet to be consummated, and I’m also fairly certain that the contract is not strictly legal, since Sigyn is not a legal resident. If this is the case, then the contract could easily be annulled. By the proper authorities.”

Frigga smiled, “By the proper authorities.”

“So really the biggest obstacle is . . .”

“Your father.”

“My father.”

“And you might want to speak to Sigyn, as well.”

“Right. That could be important.”

So his mother would talk to Odin, and Loki would talk to Sigyn. 

_Goat’s piss. I’ve got to talk to Sigyn._

Loki cloaked himself and went to find her room.

For her part, now that it was getting late, Sigyn sat in her bed staring at an open book that she had not been reading for the last 30 minutes. 

She wasn’t frustrated any longer. 

Sigyn was angry.

_What in the known universe was Loki playing at, anyway? “We’ll talk later.” What does that mean? There is nothing to talk about. What gives him the right to jerk me around like that when he knows I can’t do anything? Selfish bastard. Just because he’s a prince he thinks he can have whatever he wants and do whatever he wants and there won’t be any consequences. Well, there might not be any consequences for him, but there absolutely be consequences for me. Permanent consequences. I can’t even defend myself without getting into trouble. I would set fire to his spellbooks if it weren’t a waste of good reading materials._

Of course, just at that moment, someone knocked on her door. _Who in Asgard . . .?_

She tied her robe tight over her sleep clothes and pulled open the door.

“Loki?”

He glanced quickly down the hallway before asking, “May I come in for a short while?”

“That’s really not a good idea.”

Loki swore he felt the temperature drop, and he swallowed nervously. “I cloaked myself. No one saw.”

“And that makes it ok?” 

He felt colder. “I just need to talk to you. Please?”

After a long pause, Sigyn reluctantly stepped out of the way so he could pass into the room. Once he was fully inside, she stood against the closed door and crossed her arms, making no attempt to make him comfortable.

Loki fidgeted as he stood in what little floor space existed in the small room. Finally, Sigyn jerked her chin upwards and raised an eyebrow. She was not in the mood to be helpful. “Well?”

Loki frowned briefly, then pulled the chair away from the desk. “Won’t you sit down?”

“No, I think I’ll stand, thank you.”

“Alright, if you prefer.”

“I do.”

Loki moved over to the bed and wrapped a hand around one of the posts as if its solidity would serve as a mental brace. He cleared his throat. “I want to talk to you about your contract.”

Sigyn’s mouth fell open, this was clearly not the conversation she had been expecting. “What?”

Loki stood a little straighter and ran a hand down the front of his jacket. “I want to talk to you about your marriage contract. You never signed the betrothal papers, and pardon me if this seems to overstep my bounds, but I sense that you are less than enthusiastic about the marriage. I feel it’s my responsibility to make sure you aren’t entering into something unwillingly.” He took a breath. “Sigyn, has this marriage been forced on you?” 

Sigyn opened and closed her mouth several times trying to find words that made sense, her face suddenly hot as she looked Loki directly in the face and tried to decide whether she was embarrassed, frightened, or enraged. In the end, all she could spit out was, “Why do you care?”

He couldn’t quite maintain a neutral facade when he replied, “Well . . . it’s a matter of honor . . . why would I not care?”

She snorted. “Honor? Is that what you call that little display in the library, then? Is a seduction more honorable when it’s only a woman’s reputation at stake rather than her husband’s?”

He flushed. “That has nothing to do with this.”

She crossed her arms again. “Does it not?”

“No. Yes. Not the reputation part, but . . . ah, Freya’s cats are easier to talk to. Why are you making this so difficult? It was a simple question.”

Sigyn walked right up into his personal space. “Not. So. Simple. You explain yourself or I’m not answering any questions. I’m not going to be manipulated into becoming a _hanger on_.” 

“A hanger on? Is that what you . . .? No! That is not what I meant at . . . how could you think that?”

“Really?” And looking at him like he had quite lost his higher brain function—which to be fair, he rather felt he had at that point—Sigyn turned away and sat down heavily in the desk chair.

Loki scrubbed his face and grit his teeth. He made a fist and jabbed a finger in her direction as he took a deep breath to speak. He snapped his mouth shut again, lips in a tight line as he scrunched his eyes shut and counted to five.

He opened his eyes and breathed out heavily before he spoke, “I don’t want a _hanger on_. Alright. Here is the truth—and you really aren’t playing fair here, but this is the whole of it because you are clearly not being rational—I don’t want you to marry Theoric. He’s a thick-headed, slow-witted idiot, who’s never seen the inside of a book that he liked, whose preferred bed-mates, pardon my crassness, have all been blond, enormous-breasted doxies. The very idea of you spending the rest of your life linked to that rock-headed ass-end makes me furious, and I would actually prefer-it-if-youwouldmarrymeinstead-and-I-think-I-can-get-you-out-of-your-established-marriage-contract-wouldthatbeprefferabletoyou?”

By the time Loki got to the end of this speech Sigyn’s eyes were as wide as trenchers and her mouth hung open in shock. She blinked. Closed her mouth. Blinked again. When she finally responded, her voice was very small. “I have no idea how to answer that.”

“Yes. You could just say yes.”

“It’s not that simple.”

“I think it is.”

“There are things that make this particularly complicated.”

“I know.”

Her brow pulled together in frustration and sat up straighter. “No, you don’t know.”

Loki walked over to her and pulled her chair around so he could lean against the desk while they talked. “Actually, I do know.” 

Sigyn cocked her head suspiciously, both annoyed by his seeming obtuseness, and aroused by how effortlessly he shifted her around in that chair.

“I do know,” he repeated, but then Loki suddenly realized the potentially stalkerish behavior of his research, and his eyes darted nervously between his hands and her face before he gathered the nerve to launch into his explanation, “Right. Please don’t take this the wrong way. I, um, I did some research—a lot of research, in fact, in the library—and I, um, found out about your mother’s origin and why those origins might be the reason for Herr Braggison’s insistence on this particular marriage and its haste, and um, I want to assure you that those origins are very much not a problem for me, and I am willing to, um, work toward not having them be a problem for any other, erm, potential contracts that you might, um, choose to enter into.”

Sigyn’s voice came out in a whisper now. “And you would like for that contract to be with you?”

Loki finally looked directly into her eyes, and his voice also became extremely quiet. “Yes.”

“And how,” her voice still low, “do you propose to make any of this possible?”

Loki dropped to his knees in front of her, took her by the hand and began to play nervously with her fingers. “I believe that, since the contract was made between a citizen and a non-legal resident who was also a minor at the time the betrothal was signed, that the contract is not legally recognizable. I also believe that after the contract is annulled, that I can petition the royal council to grant you permanent residency after which you could legally enter into negotiations for a new contract.”

“And you have reason to believe that petition would be granted, why?”

His gaze shifted from her face to the fingers he held in his own, and he smirked. “I have it on good authority that the petition would be supported by the queen.”

A slow smile began to show on Sigyn’s face to match the warmth that had started to spread through her chest. “Do you, now?”

“I do,” and when his eyes moved back up to meet hers they were full of mischief.

“Well then, it might be worth an attempt.”

Loki’s focus never wavered from her face as he leaned forward and brought her fingers to his lips. “We’ll consider it a plan, then.” And though the first touch of his lips to her fingers was a chivalrous gesture, the next thing she felt was the wet tip of his tongue when he brought it out to taste the very end of her fingertip, and then his teeth began to nip. Her mouth once again fell open and she flushed down her chest as he took the tip of that finger into his mouth and sucked gently. Her heart beat hard enough to shake her clothing and her breath became shallow.

He slowly slid her finger out of his mouth and asked, “Is this alright?”

Her assent was the smallest of nods. 

He smiled broadly as he moved even closer, his face centimeters from her own, hands sliding up her arms to rest on either side of her neck. “Then perhaps this would be agreeable, as well.” He brushed her lips with his own, feather light, thumbs resting under her jaw, then pressed forward into a soft kiss.

Sigyn drew back barely enough to break contact. “That would absolutely be agreeable,” she whispered, and leaned into his touch once more, lips parting in invitation. 

She closed her eyes as she concentrated on the soft warmth of his mouth, on the taste of him flooding hers, and on the slow, wet slide of their tongues against one another. When they finally broke apart nothing existed but the dark green eyes inches from her own. She could barely breathe, even as her fingers found bare skin at his neck and fluttered over it, as if she could taste him that way as well, feeling the lines of muscle and following them up to trace around the shell of his ears, brush the softness of the lobes and comb through the hair at the base of his neck.

His own hands explored downward, sending tingles through her skin as he followed the collar of her sleep shirt over her clavicle, down to play at the dip in her cleavage, sneaking inside the fabric to cup her breast as he leaned in again for more of those glorious kisses. Loki drank in the little notes of pleasure that welled up with each touch, just as Sigyn swallowed down his own soft moans.

A distracting crick in his neck prompted him to pull back just slightly. “Sigyn, can we . . .?” And pushed the chair back slightly before pulling her down to straddle his lap on the floor and into another kiss. “Mmmmm, mch bttr.”

She giggled and wrapped her arms and legs tightly around him to settle in as close as possible, gaining a needy groan for her efforts as she felt his cock hard through their clothes and she rocked against him.

Loki buried his face in her neck. “Oh Norns, Sigyn, I have dreamed about this.” Soon his lips mouthed wetly at her pulse point as he inhaled the smells of her—soft amber soap mixed with the lingering scent of the library. His mouth continued its travels south. He pulled her tunic aside to reveal a smooth copper shoulder, and he paid worship to the newly revealed skin while she watched, mesmerized by the path marked out by his lips and tongue, by the contrast between his ivory complexion and her own darker skin, whimpering when his hand lifted her breast free of the shirt and he sucked at the tight nipple he discovered. 

Loki smacked his head hard on the desk behind him when someone rapped loudly of the door.


End file.
